


Lust Drenched in Blood

by jonnimir



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Bottom Hannibal, Dark Will, Death, Emotionally distant sex, Loving detailed description of murder, M/M, Murder, Non-Consensual Violence, One-Sided Attraction, Rough Sex, Sad cannibal noises, Straight Will, Top Will, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4667984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnimir/pseuds/jonnimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal loves Will, but the feeling isn't mutual. When Will gets desperately turned on by the violence of his first hunt and propositions Hannibal, he knows it's his only chance, and accepts, no matter the physical and emotional pain.</p>
<p>Bloody and extremely rough sex ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lust Drenched in Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Very dark and violent. Hannibal consents to sex but only just tolerates the roughness of it, and overall does not have a fantastic time.
> 
> From this prompt on hannibalkink, which I think I somehow managed to make even darker than it was originally: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/4963.html?thread=8079459#cmt8079459 
> 
> _Will and Hannibal become partners in crime and Hannibal falls in love. Will finds out and makes it's clear that he is not interested and that Hannibal shouldn't expect any sort of reciprocation. Hannibal accepts because he doesn't want to lose Will._  
>  _One night they murder someone and Will is aroused by the violence, and Hannibal thinks Will looks glorious when covered in blood and Will accidentally empathizes with him and gets very, very horny. He needs to stick his dick into something right now and his only other option is the dead body, so he propositions to Hannibal. No kisses, no gentleness, no homo stuff, only hard animalistic fucking. And Hannibal says yes because it's his best chance._  
>  _Bonus points if Hannibal doesn't come untouched and Will doesn't bother to help him._

The forest floor was dense with soft fir needles and mosses, quiet footing that made it easier to stalk their prey. Their target walked this same path through private woods each day, and he was comfortable and oblivious, whistling to himself. Hannibal could see glimpses of Will moving parallel to him on the other side of the path, intent upon his goal. Hannibal felt satisfaction at having finally brought him to hunt for himself. Will had set other boundaries in their relationship, hard boundaries, but this particular boundary of violence was malleable and destined to yield. Simply watching Hannibal kill was no longer enough. Regardless of his frustration that his love for Will was not and could not be reciprocated, he would accept the friendship and violence that was offered to him. So here Will was, offering violence, demonstrating the loyalty that Hannibal demanded. He looked forward to seeing the fruits of his labor.

Will was in his own world as they walked quietly with mirrored movements. His nose was filled with the sharp scent of pine and fresh air and he felt alive, adrenaline coursing through his veins like never before. Both excitement and the slightest edge of apprehension, not knowing exactly what to expect from his first hunt. He ducked under a low branch, eyes flickering between the target and the forest floor, avoiding twigs that would snap underfoot, moving slowly and silently. This felt predatory, and even if he couldn't take complete responsibility for being here, he couldn't deny the thrill. His palms were sweating and he was wired with anticipation for how this murder would feel. His past kills were all done in the spur of the moment and partially in defense. Whatever he felt then was rapidly overshadowed by moral crisis. This time he had made his choice, and morality was out the window.

A fork in the road became visible not far ahead. They were deep in the woods now, deep enough that screams wouldn't reach the outside world. This was where the man usually turned and started back. Will stopped behind a broad tree trunk, and looked across to where Hannibal stood similarly hidden. He watched Will, expectantly, eyes narrow with focus on this hunt. Will couldn't see the target from his hiding place, but the whistling had stopped and he could hear very soft footsteps. He nodded to Hannibal. It was time.

Confronting his prey felt hyperreal. His skin was alive and buzzing, and blood pounded in his ears. The handle of the knife had warmed in his hand, so firm in his grip that it felt like an extension of himself, a predator's claw. His eyes locked onto his target the moment he stepped out into the path, drawn to the glimpse of vulnerable flesh above the collar of his shirt.

The man's eyes widened and his body went visibly rigid with tension. He stuttered something, a question, but the words didn't process in the animal brain that now ruled Will's mind. He saw the moment when shock turned to fear, eyes flickering to the knife in Will's hands and stumbling backwards, shoes scuffing on the forest floor.

Will's eyes were greedy for every physical sign of fear. Proof that he was the one in control here, that he was the predator and the man was his prey. He lunged, slicing at arms raised in panic and drawing thick ribbons of blood. He felt a shift in his perception – it was no longer a man, but a prey animal about to fall to a predator. Hannibal would help if necessary, and he felt no fear that their prey would escape, just cold certainty that he would kill it. The certainty filled him with a sense of delirious power and for a moment he felt invincible.

His prey tripped in its hasty retreat and Will was on top of it in an instant, knocking the breath out of both of them. His free hand went to the throat vulnerable in front of him. He had planned to quickly slit its throat, but the struggle made this impossible. Instead he plunged his knife-hand through fabric and into flesh, thrusting up into the abdomen and tearing through muscle.

His ears rang with the sound of a ragged scream. He gasped as blood gushed around his hand, coating him with hot slick fluid. Something deep within him was _singing_ at this sensation. The body beneath him was jerking, crying, hysterical, pushed past its limit for managing pain. Will felt it thrash against him, saw it breaking down. He pulled out, with a grunt, and his prey was too weak to put up a fight as the blade went to its throat. He took the barest moment to pause and look deep into shocked wide eyes before slicing cleanly through. Skin parted under the blade and blood spurted out violently. It was shockingly bright. It splashed against his face and shirt, soaking his skin. Blood gurgled in the mouth of his prey for several seconds longer than he expected. He lay his hand on the gushing blood, not to stop it, but to better feel it, pulsing over his fingers and leaving them completely saturated. The blood finally slowed to an ooze and the body went completely limp beneath him.

Will's own breaths were nearly as ragged as the man's dying breaths. He'd been here before, seen this kind of murder accompanied by raging blood lust, recognized these sensations from empathy, but he was now here physically. And whether it was adrenaline, the intoxicating rush of power, or something else entirely, his pants were suddenly very tight against his crotch, and he realized his body was reacting with sexual arousal. That wasn't what he should be feeling right now, and it was the last thing he wanted Hannibal to see, but it was there, and he remained curled over the dead body, willing himself to gain control. He realized he couldn't, so he gave up covering himself, dropped the knife, and stood up.

He turned to look at Hannibal, expecting the man to look calm and controlled as always, at most amused at Will's physical reaction. Even when he killed he never showed visible signs of excitement. But as their eyes met, Will realized this was a very different situation that was making him respond in a very different way. The man's lips were parted slightly and his eyes were dark, and Will knew, could practically feel, that this particular act of violence by Will was one that aroused him.

Will's hair was mussed and blood was all over his face and hands, bright and damp against his skin. Breathing hard, standing triumphant over the prey he had slaughtered. Hannibal looked at Will and he saw a glorious, powerful blood-soaked predator, and he wanted to lap the blood from his skin, explore every inch of Will's body. Even during sexual encounters, he had rarely experienced such profound thirst for a man. Will looked at Hannibal and felt his empathy soaking up that lust, and suddenly everything was much worse, his erection undeniable and so hard that it practically hurt.

He got to his feet, watching Hannibal closely. He stroked his erection through his pants and watched the intake of breath from the other. He felt the power he had over this man who was usually so firmly in control, and found it deeply satisfying. He still wasn't sexually attracted to Hannibal, but the strong attraction that Hannibal felt for him now soaked through him and fueled the need that was growing and spiraling. His hand wasn't enough. He needed to be enveloped in something, sunk into a warm hole like his blade sunk into his prey's stomach. He breathed deeply, trying to steady himself. He knew what he needed.

“Hannibal.” His voice was low with the effort of restraint. “Look... I need to take care of this.” He grabbed at his groin, as if he needed to clarify. “And I... I don't care who's on the other end, right now. I'd just prefer not to stoop to necrophilia.”

“Are you propositioning me?” Hannibal's voice had an odd tone to it that he couldn't entirely control. He was caught off guard, but the idea of sexual contact with Will, any sexual contact, filled him with raw joy. It was a joy dulled by the exact circumstances of the situation, because he knew it wouldn't be the same opportunity to intimately see and feel Will as he had longed to for so long.

“I'm asking you to bring your goddamn mouth over here and let me _use_ it.” Will was unprepared for the aggression that came out when he spoke.

The words stung. Rudeness was one thing, but Will taking control of him in this way was difficult to accept when Hannibal knew he had no leverage of his own. He had no illusions about what this would entail. Yet even if Will only saw him as an object to be used, he would be privy to a level of intimacy otherwise unavailable to him, and he couldn't turn that down.

Hannibal knelt in front of him, and though his pulse rose as Will's cock appeared in front of him, he wasn't given a chance to so much as take a look at it before Will pressed himself against lips parted in anticipation. He smeared blood across Hannibal's face with one hand so he was transformed into a blood stained portrait, more distant from the concept of who he was. He pushed past lips and tongue to the soft warm resistance of throat, and grunted with satisfaction, Hannibal's throat contracting around him as he struggled to suppress his gag reflex. Will grabbed a fist of Hannibal's hair to hold him in place as he fucked his mouth, roughly. Hannibal made noises of discomfort but didn't try to push him away. Will's fingers had transferred a metallic tang of blood that mingled with his taste, and for the gift of this intimate flavor he would accept discomfort. Will wasn't even looking at him, eyes drifting further, to the corpse, falling into the vivid memory of the fatal violence he had just committed, and mouth wasn't enough to satisfy his lust anymore. Without ceremony, he shoved Hannibal away, leaving the man gasping and with saliva dripping down his chin. Disheveled and so far from his usual elegance. There was something rewarding about this.

Will couldn't soothe the wild lust that had infected him. It rose up, cried for sex and power and violence in equal amounts. He couldn't re-kill his prey, and he knew deep down that killing Hannibal would be a bad idea. The stench of death burned his nostrils as much as cheap whiskey would burn his throat, but its effect was just as intoxicating.

Hannibal was still kneeling there, watching him, still visibly aroused. Waiting for whatever Will's next move would be.

“Take off your pants.”

Hannibal kept his expression blank, not surprised this time, but conflicted. This would not be the physical intimacy he had desired. It should have been Will stripping for him and Hannibal who held the reins.

“Wasn't this what you wanted all along?” Will demanded. 

“I would have preferred...”

“Doesn't matter. This is the only way you'll get it.” Will took a hint of pleasure in the look of annoyance on Hannibal's face when he was interrupted. “Take it or leave it.”

It didn't take Hannibal long to take it. A better opportunity would not be forthcoming. His pants came off and he turned against the nearest tree. As Will approached, Hannibal licked his own fingers and sank them into himself, hurriedly stretching himself. He knew Will wouldn't be considerate enough in this state of mind to do it himself. Will took just long enough to pick up his knife from where he dropped it before walking over to Hannibal, yanking his fingers away, and pressing the knife against the small of his back.

“Will.” Hannibal said in a low voice, a warning.

“I won't _eviscerate_ you.” Hannibal looked uneasy at Will's words, and it made him wish he could do so without consequences. “But if you want to bleed a bit for me, I'll use that to make this easier on you.”

“Blood is a poor substitute for lube.”

“It's that or nothing.” Not waiting for an answer, Will slid the knife under Hannibal's shirt and cut a long stripe down his side, meaning it to be shallow but losing just enough restraint that it went deeper than intended, blood welling rapidly to the surface and dripping at the end of the cut. Hannibal hissed in pain and started to push away from the tree, but Will shoved him back and he didn't fight back. Will spread the blood over his cock and was further aroused by this sight. He didn't remember blood having affected him quite so much in the past. Maybe it was empathy interfering, or this specific murder that made him so receptive to it.

He spread the blood left on his fingers across Hannibal's back. Marking him with the violence. One hand still held tightly onto the knife. He had to hold himself with the other to avoid slipping over Hannibal's asshole, still small and tight, not properly prepared for what was about to come.

He pressed in hard, unrelenting, growling with the effort until the head made it past the tightest outer ring of muscle. He moaned at the sensation. Hannibal's breathing was erratic and Will knew it must have hurt like hell no matter how much he tried to cover it up. He didn't want Hannibal to cover it up, he wanted him to yield, wanted to dominate and force. And even with searing pain cutting through Hannibal, he couldn't fight back how much he still wanted Will. He was enamored of the beauty of Will's inner beast and his capacity for brutality. Past the pain was pleasure just at having such a man inside him.

Will's teeth bared slightly as he began to thrust in, using every inch possible for his own pleasure. Low stuttering noises started to come from Hannibal's mouth, whether from pain or pleasure Will wasn't sure and didn't bother to ask. He felt completely consumed by the dark cloud of need. He made another nick with the knife on Hannibal's upper thigh where blood bloomed freely, then spread him wider so he could enter more deeply. Hannibal practically whimpered from the next deep thrust, this time clearly in some pleasure. Will imagined opening up veins all over the man's body so he was soaked and whimpering for death, instead. His knife-hand wrapped around Hannibal's neck, not to cut his throat but to feel the wild pulse of his jugular against his arm, to keep him in place and have the firm knowledge that he _could_ do it, could have blood rushing from the wound while he was still inside him. The thought made him dizzy.

He kept Hannibal firmly held in place as he used him, fast, rough, his body flexing against Will from mixed desire and pain. A hand reached back to touch his hip, and Will snapped a warning and grabbed the wrist, slamming it against the rough bark of the tree. Hannibal hissed at the abrasion. He could shut down the pain that he felt, retreat into his mind palace and have it all fade away. But he needed to absorb every sensation, every raw burn of Will entering him, every low thrum of pleasure from being filled, both the sharp and bruising pains that Will's violence scarred him with. He needed to commit it to memory. He would never have this again.

It didn't take long for Will to finish. He was already nearly overstimulated by the violence itself, and Hannibal was so very tight around him. He was panting, cursing under his breath as the pressure within him reached its apex. His fingers clawed at Hannibal's hips as he drew out the last deep thrusts, friction pulling a powerful, gasping orgasm from him. As he pulled away he felt like every bit of tension had been wrung right out of him.

The haze of lust and blood-lust finally faded enough that he could see the scene in front of him clearly. Hannibal was breathing hard against the tree, pulling himself back together. Blood and cum dripped from the crack of his ass.

Will averted his eyes. “Shit, Hannibal...” He trailed off. 

Hannibal stayed facing the tree for a moment, touching himself tenderly and marveling that there was any hardness left in him with all the pain in his body. He was not a masochist, but he loved seeing Will's violence, and he still felt nearly on edge after the physical and emotional sensation of the man he loved coming to orgasm inside him. He allowed the barest flicker of hope that Will might feel enough empathy or guilt that he would help him finish, but refused to lower himself to begging. When enough seconds ticked away with no further comment or question from Will, he felt a surge of irritation that he was discarded like this, then let the hope gutter out. The wrenching certainty hurt more than his physical injuries did, and he went soft in his hand. Silently, he got his pants and pulled them up, a grimace on his face as the fabric dragged over raw wounds. He looked like he had been torn apart. Covered in sweat and blood, shirt torn and stained with blood, exhaustion radiating from his body.

“You know this doesn't mean...” Will's voice was transparently uncomfortable.

“I am aware.” His voice was thick and nearly hoarse, and he cleared his throat. He went through the motions of brushing himself off, as if that would do anything to regain dignity. “This was an arrangement of convenience in the moment, prompted by the excitement of your first chosen kill. There was no emotional engagement on your end, and it will not be repeated again.”

“Yes. I just... got caught up in it. That's all.”

Hannibal surveyed him carefully. “Do not apologize for the drives of your darker self, Will.” He paused. “If you want to apologize for anything, I would accept an apology for the abundance of forensic evidence that you have now left at the crime scene. But do not apologize for something which I made no attempt to resist.”

Will wondered for a moment if this would come back to haunt him, if Hannibal would try to use this to manipulate him into expressing something he didn't feel. It could just as easily be the beginning of the end for Hannibal's love for him. Hannibal knew, as they began to clean up the scene, that it would be wise to suppress his feelings rather than continuing to suffer this pain. He had a memory of sex with Will now, fleeting and unfulfilling though it was. No matter how many years his love was sustained, he could hope for nothing more than this violent union born of desperation. This memory would have to suffice.

**Author's Note:**

> Much though I'm saddened to see straight Will, sometimes I really like seeing Hannibal suffer. And it was such a big departure from my ongoing fic that it was fun to do. I even tried to adjust my style to suit this piece (plus fluid omniscient POV due to laziness). This was meant to be a quick fill, though I took longer on it than I'd hoped.
> 
> I swear this is just the product of a bit of a blood kink, a vivid imagination, and access to a convenient amount of empathy.
> 
> As always, I appreciate any comments. :)


End file.
